


Make My Spirit Still

by Poee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Historical AU, Human AU, M/M, hanzo doesnt get access to the sharp object cabinet just in case, the shimadas have a good relationship, there are no meat grinders to put genji in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poee/pseuds/Poee
Summary: The Shimada brothers are growing complacent. The peaceful life in Hanamura is weighing on them and suffocating their talents as warriors. As a result, their father sends them out to see the world together and learn to fend for themselves, without anything to depend on but each other; their travels eventually lead them to Nepal, in a peaceful monastery nestled in the mountains, where they are about to learn a lot about life, love, and each other.





	1. welcome to nepal.

 

As he stood on what seemed to be the end of the world, he felt as if he were invincible.

 

Clouds rolled below over the blue landscape, catching and tearing against the mountaintops that stretched out as far as his eye could see. His head was filled with a thousand different sensations; he wasn’t quite certain if the altitude was affecting him, but he did know that never in his life had he been so aware of everything around all at once. The tender grass beneath his feet, the scent of hay and earth and rain, the dull ache of travel crawling up his spine, it all washed over him in a single violent wave, overwhelming his senses and leaving him breathless at the wonder of it all.

 

He stayed there a long moment, feet firmly planted in the soil and head lost amongst the clouds, wind whipping at his exposed face and chilling him to his core.

 

“ _ Genji! _ ”

 

The sound of his brother’s voice pulled him from his reverie, and immediately the young man tensed, body tilting towards the source of the sound. Hanzo was glaring back at him, already much further down the path, obviously annoyed at his younger sibling for slowing down their pace.

 

“We need to get there before night falls.”

 

“I know, I know-”

 

“Then  _ move _ . I won't hesitate to leave you behind.”

 

Ever the conversationalist, Hanzo spun on his heels and resumed his trod up the rocky pathway without another word. Genji gave a quiet chuckle and followed suit, adjusting his heavy bag over his shoulders as he followed the other’s brisk step.

 

But not before he threw one last look to the sun-drenched mountains of Nepal, drinking in the beauty of the scene in one final, glorious moment - a piece of heaven to keep for later.

 

The two made their way up the last portion of mountain left to their trek. The monastery was in sight, now, after months of traveling through the mountainous landscape. The Shimada brothers had left when spring had just bloomed, taking with them only the essentials,wandering from village to village in search of subsistence and ways to perfect their training. Summer was ending now, and Genji could feel the sharp bite the air was getting, the flowers he had seen emerge now dry and wilting.

 

Winters in Nepal were harsh and cold, and they had now begun to look for a place to stay during the cold months, to no avail so far. Most of the places they'd already been to had too many mouths to feed already to afford two more. The temple ahead was one of their last options; they were hoping to at least trade their services for shelter. Much as it pained Hanzo to halt their training, it seemed like their only remaining choice as the weather kept cooling down - and it suited Genji, who could use a break from his brother’s draconian rhythm.

 

Picking up his pace, he trotted up to Hanzo’s height eagerly, eyes drinking in the sight of the sanctuary ahead. It took him a moment to finally peel them away and throw a glance towards his brother, immediately noting the fold of worry on his brow. Before he could say anything, the older one turned to face him, sinking his eyes in his.

 

“What if this doesn't work?”

 

Genji hesitated an instant, eyes wide. Hanzo  _ never _ showed any weakness.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What are we going to do if they won't have us, Genji?”

 

He had never seen such worry on his brother’s face. Taken aback, he paused a moment, before cracking a smile and throwing his arm around the older one’s shoulders.

 

“It'll be fine,” Genji beamed, hiding his own apprehension. “How could they not want to keep us around? We're charming.”

 

Hanzo let out an annoyed ‘tsk’ and pushed him away, but the young man could clearly see him fighting back a smirk. He didn't insist and set his hands back against the straps of his heavy backpack, smiling to himself.

 

They'd always managed so far. If there was something he was certain of, it was that as long as they were together they'd do it again.

 

The two brothers climbed up the rest of the mountain in silence.


	2. curiosity killed the monk.

 

Curiosity was a dangerous thing.

 

That was the mantra he was repeating quietly to himself, as he was actively pursuing the object of that very curiosity.

 

The newcomers had joined the monastery as summer was taking its last breaths. Hardworking men were never turned away from the temple, especially during the colder months, when shelter was difficult to find and food was scarce. It wasn’t a particularly special situation to have strangers around him.

 

So why did it feel different this time? Why did he feel such an ardent need to plan out his daily movements to catch the young warriors in the hall, why was he always looking to catch the younger one’s gaze, why did he always feel so many things when his subtle endeavors were rewarded with a beaming grin, or with a muffled laugh on his part?

 

Zenyatta took a deep breath, trying as hard as he could to still his beating heart and keep his pace regular. Piercing blue eyes searched the halls for movement as his head filled with the echoes of his footsteps against the stone floors. Nervosity was an entirely alien feeling to him, and the unfamiliarity was making him feel even worse. He could still turn around. Go quietly back to his quarters, ignore this entire endeavour, and resume his studies-

 

He froze.

 

There he was, around the corner. A flash of green against borrowed woolen robes.

 

His heart felt as if it had stopped.

 

The sudden silence seemed to have roused the young man from his work, and he lifted his head, a vague expression of curiosity apparent on his face. As he noticed the monk standing in the corner (jaw agape, Zenyatta realized, far too late), he immediately seemed to light up; a grin appeared on his face as he stood up straight, the broom in his hand completely forgotten as he gave him a friendly wave.

 

Zenyatta felt his lips curl into a smile despite himself, averting his eyes slightly to hide the burning in his cheeks. Maybe he could just stay a little. Just for a friendly conversation. Never bad to get to know new people, right?

 

He tilted his head back up to face the man, desperately trying to find an appropriate greeting… and froze again. The broom was in the air, the young man spinning it enthusiastically as if to make him laugh. As their eyes met, Zenyatta felt a spark - and it came careening down to the ground in a thunderous crash, startling the other more than it scared him, as evidenced by the shriek that came out of the warrior’s mouth.

 

The monk absolutely could not resist the laughter that bubbled up inside of him, feeling his chest fill with a gentle, diffuse heat.

 

The other noticed it too. When he looked back up at him, smile hidden behind his hand and eyes shimmering with joy, he noted the dusting of pink over his cheeks, the same expression he knew he had been bearing a few minutes ago. As he crossed his hands back behind himself and took a step forward, the man seemed to snap out of some kind of trance and nervously glanced down to the mess he had created, kneeling down to pick it up.

 

“Ah-- sensei, I’m-”

 

“You’ve been at this for a while, haven’t you?”

 

The warrior froze, black eyes affixed on him.

 

“I’m- I’m sorry?”

 

“You’ve been doing these things every time I come across you. I’ve seen your brother scold you for it. Are you always trying to make me laugh?”

 

He said nothing, but the deepening color of his cheeks told volumes. Zenyatta kneeled next to him, smiling amiably, before bowing his head.

 

“I’m terribly sorry. I’d been meaning to properly welcome you into our home, but hadn’t found the time for us to have proper introductions. Tekhartha Zenyatta. It is good to have you here, dear…?”

 

It took the other an instant to realize that he was expected to reply, and he stammered for a few seconds, pulling another involuntary smile from the monk, who wasn’t used to emoting quite so much.

 

“G- Genji,” he finally let out, gathering himself. “Shimada Genji. It’s good to be here, I- thank you so much for having us.” He bowed quickly in response, hands on his knees and eyes low, his face still a shade too red.

 

“Shimada Genji,” Zenyatta repeated thoughtfully, testing the name’s pronunciation, before nodding quietly, satisfied with how it flowed. “No need to thank me, however. I have very little say in the decisions made here.” He ran his eyes over the young man’s expression, watching him hanging off his every word. “I should be thanking you. You two being here make the days certainly more… animated.”

 

Genji seemed to pause an instant, seemingly trying to figure out if he was being gently reprimanded or not, before giving the monk a large, cheery grin.

 

“I’m glad I could help.”

 

His earnestness forced a smile out of Zenyatta, who hid himself behind his hand once again. The warrior tilted his head forwards, eyes shimmering, seemingly encouraged by the other’s reactions.

 

“Ah, no! It’s a terrible thing to hide a smile like that,” he scolded him gently, refusing to falter in his efforts. “It took so long to get it out of you and now you’re going to deny me it?”

 

The monk was laughing now, incapable of stopping himself, hands obscuring the bottom half of his face and the heat in his chest rising. Genji seemed obviously pleased with himself, leaning in close as he detailed a very giddy Zenyatta, trying to catch a glance of him.

 

“No, no!” he chuckled, hands resting over the monk’s folded knees, sending a jolt throughout his body. “You’re the only smile I’ve seen in weeks,  _ please _ , sensei, you  _ have _ to-”

 

“Shimada Genji,” he interrupted, voice muffled by his hands and bright with laughter, blue eyes sparkling as they met with his. “You are neglecting your duties-”

 

“One smile, Tekhartha, one smile is all I need to--”

 

“ _ Genji _ .”

 

It was as if lightning had struck the warrior, and Zenyatta felt him pull away faster than he had thought a human could move, fear clouding his expression.

 

He tilted his head to the source of the sound cautiously - not once had he even noticed the footsteps, and he chastised himself mentally for letting himself get so distracted - and saw their other guest standing in the doorway, clad in his old travel clothes instead of the robes they had lent them, his expression hard as rock and his eyes two angry slits.

 

“Hanzo-”

 

“What are you  _ doing _ ,” he breathed, and Zenyatta couldn’t help but compare his voice to that of a drake’s, hard and deep and his words hissed. “You said you’d be ready for training, and instead, you- you--”

 

The man seemed to just realize the monk was present, and his voice softened a little, his brow furrowing with a sudden worry.

 

“You bother our hosts, in-- Sensei, I apologize a thousand times for my brother, I-”

 

“No, no!” Zenyatta let out, pulling his hands away immediately. “No, I - no need for that. He has done nothing wrong, I was- I was just telling him how appreciated his presence- both of your presences are here. You do a lot of good for us, and I thank you.”

 

He could feel Genji’s eyes burning a hole through the side of his head, and his cheeks ran even hotter than before; clearing his throat, he shot up, folding his hands together behind him and squeezing them tightly, if only to ground himself.

 

“If anything, I was the distraction. My apologies. Do be gentle on him, and continue your good work.”

 

He gave Hanzo a curt bow, before quickly turning on his heels and stepping away, head swimming and feeling as if his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He could still feel the heat of Genji’s hands on his skin and the coolness of his breath and the warmth of his eyes and he had no idea what was happening to him, no idea at all, and especially no idea why he couldn’t stop smiling after such a small interaction.

 

From around the corner, before he was too far, he heard Genji’s voice one last time.

  
“I told you we were charming!”


	3. prove your worth.

 

The frigidity of the wind stung nearly as much as the blow Hanzo landed on him.

 

He hissed angrily, releasing the wooden sword with a hand to bring it up to his nose; no blood, he noted after a glance, before focusing his attention back onto his brother.

 

The split second had been enough for him to strike again.

 

He went flying under the gasps of the monks who had been watching the fight, his numb fingers unable to hold onto the grip of his training weapon hard enough for him to deflect the attack. His back hit the stone floor like a sack of potatoes, knocking the wind out of him and filling his vision with stars. Immediately he flipped himself over, fingers desperately groping at the cold stone to try to situate himself; he felt around through the snow a moment, trying to shake off the dizziness, before his fingers closed around part of his weapon again, tightening around it desperately.

 

He felt a foot press against the side of his head, forcing his swollen cheek against the icy floor, and groaned loudly in pain, letting go of what he was holding and lifting his hands in defeat.

 

“I win,” Hanzo panted, as if the fact hadn’t been evident enough.

 

He released the pressure and Genji breathed out deeply, gazing at the fog his own breath created against the frigid air to try to shake his headache away, as the clapping of their audience filled his ears. He saw Hanzo take a curt bow towards the monks, briefly considered using his distraction to retaliate, but was ultimately dissuaded by the sharp pang that shot up along his newly bruised side. Slowly, he pulled himself up, weight resting against his tired arms. The wind nipped at his exposed skin, dulling his aches.

 

He felt his brother kneel next to him, and a hand was offered to help.

 

“Get up. One more round.”

 

“What-- no, you said  _ this _ was the last!”

 

“You’re distracted. I know you can do this, Genji.”

 

He threw a look at him. Hanzo was in as bad of a shape as he was, covered in angry-looking bruises and reddening skin from the cold. Despite him not having fell once, his hair was caked in a thin layer of shimmering snow, falling to his shoulders in a shimmering dust. The hand he was offering him was trembling, but his expression was determined, his eyes shimmering with the intensity of battle.

 

Genji gave out a long sigh and grabbed his hand, earning himself a smile, before allowing him to pull him back upwards with a pained grunt and a quick, friendly slap on the back.

 

He  _ was _ distracted, he thought, hobbling cautiously over to his weapon as his brother got back into position, all the while rubbing his cold skin aggressively to try to keep what little warmth he had left. He had been hoping Zenyatta would be freed from his own duties fast enough to see him fight; without his friend there everything felt off, and his thoughts kept drifting back to him instead of staying on his training, as they should. He wondered briefly if the monk ever felt the same way.

 

He took a sharp breath as he heaved his sword up, gripping it as well as he could between benumbed fingers, before turning to face his brother. The wind picked up, blowing a cloud of shimmering snow up into the air, and the whispers of the monks died down as the two warriors bowed again, ready for another round.

 

Silence fell, and Genji steeled himself for another loss.

 

“Shimada Hanzo!”

 

Or not.

 

He twisted around, breaths still short and shallow, puzzled. Was that Zeny--

 

“It’s my turn.”

 

It was. Zenyatta was stepping out of the small crowd that had gathered around them, heavy robes whipping in the wind and his usual gentle smile etched onto his lips, icy blue eyes shimmering with resolve. He was followed by Mondatta, one of the head monks, hands folded inside his own sleeves and traits somber and austere; his dark gaze shifted over to Hanzo momentarily, and he gave the other a curt nod before stopping at the stairs leading to the yard, watching silently. Genji’s heart skipped a beat and he knew he was grinning before his freezing skin could allow him to feel it.

 

“Your turn?” came Hanzo’s voice, betraying his confusion, as the monk stopped next to Genji.

 

“I want to fight you.”

 

Excited whispers arose around them as Zenyatta began stripping himself of his robes, smiling serenely even as the icy wind stung his newly exposed skin. Genji looked on at his friend in complete confusion, his face inscrutable as always; when the monk looked over to him he felt a tightness in his chest, rendered a thousand times stronger when he gently draped his heavy clothes over his shoulders. The movement, combined with the tenderness of his expression, warmed him up in a way that had nothing to do with the fabric.

 

He sheepishly tightened his hold around them, shielding himself from the cold, surreptitiously burying his nose into the thick wool to catch his scent.

 

“I heard you asking around to see if we could take the two of you as students. I’m here to see if you are worthy. Face me, Shimada, and prove to me that you deserve our tutelage.”

 

Immediately a wide smile appeared on Hanzo’s lips, a short laugh escaping him as he slid back into position. The idea of a challenge always appealed to him, especially one as high stakes as this one. Genji could see the fire in his eyes, and suddenly he felt a rush of concern for the monk, who had no idea what he was getting himself into.

 

“Zenyatta--” he breathed, tilting his head towards him, brow furrowed lightly.

 

He was answered with a beaming smile and shimmering blue eyes, and immediately shut down.

 

“Genji!” Hanzo shouted playfully, grinning from ear to ear as he adjusted his icy fingers around the grip of his sword. “This is between the two of us now, don’t interfere!”

 

He seemed as if he had regained all of his energy, as if the last hours of training had never happened. Zenyatta gave a gentle laugh, hands clasped behind his back as he shook his head softly.

 

“You heard your brother,” he let out, looking back at Hanzo. “You did good today. Go rest.”

 

He didn’t have to be told twice and immediately scuttled off into a small opening two of the other monks he was friendly with had made for him to watch the fight, robes tightly wrapped around his cold body. They chided him gently for the performance he had given earlier but threw their sleeves over him to help him warm himself, eyes affixed on the unusual portrait in front of them, all very curious to see how this would play out.

 

The two opponents gave a curt bow. Hanzo immediately began circling around a very nonchalant Zenyatta, who was calmly observing him. Genji could hear the monks around him shuffling in excitement, whispering to each other and holding back quiet laughs. Despite what was at odds, he let himself be taken along with their giddiness, and leaned in against the balustrade circling the yard, eyes affixed on the monk, who had still not made a movement. He glanced over to the man who had accompanied him, tall and still; he was surprised to note a ghost of a smile on his lips, a playful glint in in his dark eyes.

 

Immediately, he knew Hanzo had lost.

 

The rest happened very fast. The sound of his brother’s voice startled him and he  turned his attention back to the improvised ring. He was charging, weapon pulled back and body taut; his hid landed square on Zenyatta’s face, with a snap so loud it made the monks gasp.

 

Zenyatta didn’t flinch.

 

Lightning-fast hands clamped down against the wooden blade and twisted it out of Hanzo’s frigid grip before he could react. With a graceful hop the monk lifted his leg up high, catching the warrior on the side of the head before the fold of his knee hooked him; Hanzo hesitated, barely a second, but just long enough for Zenyatta to lock onto him and send him careening to the ground violently, without a moment’s hesitation.

 

Hanzo collapsed immediately, in a cloud of snow, to the enthusiastic cheers of the audience.

 

Genji’s eyes were affixed on Zenyatta’s back, as if hypnotized. He had never seen him move that way, with the monk usually so calm and gentle. The sight of muscle rolling beneath skin, of the arch of his back and the flex of his arms, was unbelievably distracting. He could barely believe he had never noticed these details about him before, and he was in awe.

 

He felt a hand gently snap his jaw back shut and turned to the monk next to him, giggling amiably at the dazed expression he had been sporting. His other friend elbowed him softly in the ribs and mimicked a kiss at him when he turned to frown, and he felt his cheeks heat up again as he grumpily hid behind Zenyatta’s heavy robes, earning himself a new shower of laughs.

 

Hanzo got up five times. Five times he was shut down just as violently as the first; but every round took a little longer as he learned to adapt, to mold himself to the man’s radically different style. By the time his aching body made him concede the match Zenyatta’s cheeks were pink with effort, his smile wide and his eyes crinkled playfully, very obviously pleased with their performance.

 

He stepped over to the defeated warrior, his head pressed to the grip of his sword and hanging low with the weight of his loss. Gently, he extended a hand to him, waiting for the two to catch their breaths before Hanzo allowed him to pull him up.

 

“You fought valiantly,” Zenyatta assured him, eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. “I've never seen such vivacity, such--”

 

“Tekhartha,” Mondatta breathed out, his voice a low growl that came straight from his core.

 

Their audience of acolytes immediately quieted down. Zenyatta turned sheepish, giving Hanzo a brief bow before skittering back to his master’s side, cheeks dusted with pink and body trembling from the cold. It almost felt as if he had switched bodies - there was nothing left of the honed combatant Genji had seen a few minutes ago, and Zenyatta was back, with his serene expression, his slight frame, his eternal clasped hands.

 

The warrior saw him differently now, however. There was a whole side of Tekhartha Zenyatta that he did not know about, an ardent passion hidden behind his mild mannerisms. It only made him want to know him more.

 

“Shimada Hanzo,” boomed Mondatta, loud enough to be heard over the howling winds. Every one of the acolytes present lowered their heads respectfully at his words, leaving the two brothers reverent at how much awe a single man could impose.

 

“You have immense potential,” he went on, and Genji caught sight of his brother puffing up like a rooster, a proud smile lighting up his face. The man placed a hand over Zenyatta’s shoulder, dark eyes affixed on the warrior, looking paternal. “Tekhartha is one of my brightest pupils, and never have I seen someone stand up to him so well. We would be honored if you’d accept to stay with us a while longer, and receive our instruction.”

 

Zenyatta’s head was still tilted forwards, but Genji could see him positively  _ beaming _ , as if the sun itself had taken up residence inside of him. He suspected the final decision hadn’t been taken only on the headmaster’s judgement of them, and that the monk had something to do with them staying at the temple. He said nothing, however, and brought his attention back to his brother, standing in the middle of the improvised arena, frozen both with cold and surprise.

 

An angel passed, before Hanzo fell to his knees, bowing deeply.

 

“It would be an honor, sensei,” he let out between shallow breaths.

 

There was a wave of cheering as the monks rushed into the center of the yard to congratulate the combatants. For a split second, between the hair-ruffling and the vocal encouragement of the monks around him, Genji’s eyes met Zenyatta’s, and the smile he flashed him immediately filled his chest with warmth.

 

He had planned this. He wanted them to stay.

 

Genji let the mood of the moment take him away, head swimming and heart ready to burst with joy.


	4. the tournament.

“Finished!”

 

A cascade of laughter resonated through the dojo as the two combatants finally separated, the winner throwing his hands in the air in celebration, earning himself a series of hoots from the other acolytes.

 

The sun was high in the sky now, timid and cold, but valiantly shining. The snow in the yard was starting to disappear and the air felt crisp, fresh. The windows to the training room were all wide open, but the heat the combats were generating was enough to keep the atmosphere warm, the young monks excitedly shuffling about and loudly discussing the events of their weeks.

 

Zenyatta was smiling in the midst of it all. He loved the excitement, the enthusiasm their tournaments had, and the feeling of freedom that came with their off days. Seeing everyone so carefree and joyful and energized did wonders on his mood, and even he had allowed himself to relax and start taking part in the playful mood that permeated the acolytes on that day.

 

Of course, Genji’s presence helped that a lot as well. He could see him from the corner of his eye, a flash of green jutting out against the dark wool everyone was clad in, easy to find for the fact that he was always surrounded by a small gaggle of amused monks. He had one of them propped up on each shoulder, clinging to each other for dear life with laughter in their voices as he strutted around proudly; his brother's unamused scoldings were lost in the communal noise the room was filled with, especially between combats.

 

Zenyatta could not be more pleased with how the day was going.

 

“The new combatants have been chosen!”

 

The room quieted down just a notch, the monks in the further corners of the room busy with their own games. Hanzo did not look up, secure in the knowledge that he had already proven himself that day (the awestruck monk he had defeated earlier was still hanging off his arm excitedly, as if his trophy). The quill he threw at his brother’s head did little to nothing to get him to pay attention to the announcements. Zenyatta couldn't help but smile at their antics before looking back to the monk who had been picked to overlook the matches that day.

 

To his surprise, their eyes locked, and he was offered a mischievous grin.

 

“Tekhartha Zenyatta, in the ring!”

 

Hooting rose from the sides as the acolytes encouraged him. He gave a soft chuckle and shook his head before taking off his shirt and offering it to a nearby friend, nodding at him in thanks before stepping into the ring. He supposed a fight would do him good, maybe lower those tensions a little; and if his friends wanted to see him spar, then it would please them as well.

 

As he shook his arms cautiously, stretching his body in preparation, he could hear playful laughter, the room quieting down. He briefly wondered who he had been paired with for them to be so amused - perhaps Sadhan? Or newcomer Chandra, famous for having lost at--

 

“Shimada Genji! In the ring!”

 

The room exploded. Zenyatta froze, eyes widening, before looking up to where Genji was standing, seemingly just as confused as he was. The monk could see his brother laughing uproariously, and when the young warrior turned to him for comfort he was offered no help; as he put down the two giggling monks on his shoulders he was inexorably pushed towards the ring by the crowd, stray hands pulling his heavy robes off him of their own accord, words of encouragement mixing with excited shouts.

 

He stumbled into the ring, shirtless and lost, his dark gaze affixed on a very surprised looking Zenyatta. The monk threw a sideways glance to the others gathered around them. He wasn’t at all surprised to see them watching intently, grins wide and making encouraging hand movements as they whispered to one another; they had been planning this for a long time now, trying to get him and Genji to spend time together on more than one occasion.

 

He stuck his tongue out at them, earning himself a series of giggles, before turning to face Genji.

 

The warrior seemed hesitant, unsure of what the rules were. He had seen Hanzo join in earlier but this was his first fight of the day, and against his best friend no less; he seemed to be questioning him with his eyes, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. Zenyatta gave a smirk and bowed before placing himself into a combat position. As he motioned to Genji with a finger, the warrior understood; a grin appeared on his face and he followed suit, preparing himself to go all out.

 

If their friends wanted a show, they’d give them one.

 

Genji approached first, as Zenyatta had expected. Too bold, too impatient, too confident in his own physical strength to take the time to strategize. The monk sidestepped to avoid his dash and twirled to face him, leg aiming for his flank - he nearly yelped in surprise when he felt hands grip at his limb, destabilizing him.

 

He caught the warrior’s glance and was flashed a bright grin; he nearly didn’t notice the collective “ooh” the crowd let out at the taunt and he snatched his leg out of his hold, huffing in surprise as he placed himself back into position. He felt his cheeks heat up as Genji started laughing, head swimming as he could feel the situation slipping away from him.

 

Desperate to distract himself he threw another kick; it ended the same way, his leg clamped between the warrior’s hands, only this time much too high up for him to keep his balance. Genji pulled his foot up over his shoulder, lips still stretched in a smile, pulling him uncomfortably close and forcing him to hop to remain standing. He knew there was nothing he could do in this type of disadvantageous position and his instincts kicked in immediately.

 

He threw his other leg around Genji’s waist and pulled him down with all his weight.

 

The warrior  _ screamed _ \- a genuine yelp of fear, which amused the audience to no end - and the two slammed down to the ground violently. Zenyatta had the advantage of surprise and immediately tugged his leg down to try to free it. Genji, however, was too fast for him; as soon as he felt him slip away he charged forwards blindly, arms wrapping around the first body part they could find in an attempt to keep him pinned, ending up with his face buried in Zenyatta’s stomach, one arm around his waist and the other between his legs, clamping them together in the back.

 

“Got you now--” he panted, body splayed over as much of him as he could manage to keep him on the floor.

 

Zenyatta was out of breath now - he hadn’t been fighting that long, had he? - and it felt as if his head was full of cotton, his mouth dry. He considered the warrior’s body an instant, the heat of his breath against his skin, the movement of the muscles in his back, before the pain made him snap out of his trance and get back to the match. No no no. Focus. This was  _ not _ the time for this kind of weakness. Not in front of --

 

Genji lifted his head and looked up at him triumphantly, still grinning.

 

Zenyatta panicked and violently struck his forehead with the heel of his palm.

 

The warrior had clearly not been anticipating  _ that _ . Dazed, he released his grip just enough for the monk to slip his leg out of his hand; but as he tried to pull away from him, red-faced and head swimming with thoughts, Genji made another blind grab, trying to regain his hold on him, determined to not let go of his prey.

 

Zenyatta felt his hand plant itself square on his ass.

 

A quiet yelp escaped him and he felt all strength leave his limbs, chest ready to burst with emotion and face hot and tingly. He realized in horror that Genji had not only noticed, but was reacting the same; his cheeks were just as red as his and he was desperately trying to regain some manner of countenance, pulling himself up so he wouldn’t be so close to him anymore.

 

When he jerked away, he forgot his arm was still stuck under his body - and slammed his face right back down into his stomach.

 

Panicking, Zenyatta flipped himself over to the side to free him, overcalculated the strength needed for the maneuver, and ended up on top of the other. Genji had been surprised by the movement and had kept his arm around his waist so he wouldn’t tumble and hurt himself, and he could feel the contact against the small of his back, and just how  _ hard _ he was squeezing him; their hips were touching now, their faces so close he could feel his shortened breathing and see how large his pupils were and _ my goodness, when had it gotten this hot in here? _

 

He realized the room had fallen silent when that silence was broken by one of the monks, who gave a very heartfelt cheer. Others followed and soon the entire room was filled with enthusiastic laughter; Zenyatta was ready to disappear, and gently sank his face into Genji’s chest under the cascades of raunchy comments they were getting. He felt the hand around his waist loosen, replaced by a friendly pat on the upper back; the warrior’s heart was beating just as violently as his, however, and he could feel him trembling.

 

“I-- ah - I’m assuming you being on top means you won?” Genji let out sheepishly, when the monk finally dared to lift his head back up to look at him.

  
Zenyatta punched his shoulder hard, and among the laughter he heard next, Hanzo’s was the loudest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if ill be able to illustrate this one school is super nuts right now...... i hope u can find it in ur hearts to forgive me (,:


	5. meddlers.

 

“Move over, I can't see-”

 

“Don't speak so loud! They'll hear!”

 

The sight of the four monks huddled around the door, whispering loudly to one another, was one to turn heads.

 

It had taken all day and treasures of patience for them to finally manage to get both Zenyatta and Genji in the same room. Their little group had lost a few members to passing teachers and obligations, but the remaining few were determined to see their plan come to fruition, refusing to admit defeat. There was not much left for them to do but to wait at this point, and it was certainly the most nerve-wracking part; they all knew the warrior and the monk very well, and by extension how unbelievably dense they both were when it came to the subject of love, no matter how differently they claimed.

 

“Can you hear what they're saying?”

 

“They're too far.”

 

“Then they can't hear us either. It's fine.”

 

An exasperated sigh, followed by a yelp as the sound was punished with a cruel pinch. Silence.

 

“Maybe we shouldn't be getting involved--”

 

“Listen. Just because you have a crush on the  _ other _ brother doesn't mean--”

 

“I do  _ not _ !”

 

A cascade of laughter, another yelp; Prakash, the tallest one, pushed all of the others behind the door as he noticed Genji turning around to the source of the sound, dark eyes shimmering angrily as he glared down at his group of penitent friends.

 

Silence again. When voices arose once more from inside the room the monks peeked back in slowly, curiosity gnawing at them.

 

“I do  _ not _ like Hanzo,” came a quieter voice. Laughter immediately followed.

 

“Chaitya-”

 

“I just… want that to be clear. I do not like Hanzo.”

 

“Of course you don't. You spent three days following him around after he beat you at the tournament just because you hate him so much.”

 

Chaitya mumbled quietly, earning himself a friendly pat on the head from Prakash.

 

“This is going nowhere. They're never going to admit it,” hissed Vatsa, one of the founding members of their little group of matchmakers. His patience had been worn thin lately, both from their lack of progress and from the two’s complete refusal to admit anything was going on between them. A light hand was pressed against his shoulder; Kewal, serene as ever, offered him a smile.

 

“Be patient. It'll happen eventually, they just need time.”

 

“Yeah. Centuries, maybe.”

 

A soft giggle arose, silenced itself before the dreaded pinch came back.

 

“Look. We just need to-”

 

“Have any of you seen my brother?”

 

There was a general movement of panic amongst the little group as they all turned to the source of the unfamiliar voice. The other Shimada was standing behind them, having approached in such silence that none of the preoccupied monks had noticed him.

 

“G-- Genji?” Kewal let out nervously, eyeing the room behind them. “He… why are you looking for him?”

 

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow at their odd behaviour, but didn't mention it.

 

“He hasn't turned up in hours. I need to talk to him.”

 

The archer was idly peeking through the door behind them, causing the group immense worry. If he found out Genji was in there-

 

Vatsa grabbed Chaitya by the shoulders, panicking, and thrust him towards Hanzo.

 

“Chaitya can help you look for him! He knows where he's always hanging out, right?”

 

“I-- wh- what??”

 

“Of course!” Prakash chimed in. “You’re always finding Genji. It’s like you have a sixth sense or something.”

 

Vatsa was already hurriedly linking Hanzo’s arm around Chaitya’s, trying to push the two of them away from the room as fast as he could, his wide eyes speaking volumes to his friend who seemed completely lost in the sudden turn of events.

 

“I think the last time I saw him was near the courtyard. You know, on the other side of the temple. You should start your search there,” offered Vatsa, smiling pleasantly at Hanzo to distract from the panicked look on his smaller friend’s face. “ _ Right _ , Chaitya?”

 

“Y… yes,” he finally let out, gathering his senses and pulling a relieved sigh from Kewal’s chest. “I, um- I think I remember where he is, Hanzo, sensei - I’ll - I’ll show you.”

 

“I am indebted to you, Chaitya,” Hanzo replied, bowing his head. A vague sense of amusement was apparent in his expression, but it seemed as if the small monk was completely oblivious to it.

 

They left with their arms hooked one over the other’s. Chaitya’s cheeks were a vibrant shade of red when he turned around to face the group one last time, silently mouthing the words “HE REMEMBERS MY NAME”, pulling another series of giggles from the remaining monks.

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Kewal asked, amusedly watching the two step away, already seemingly engaged in conversation.

 

“He’ll be fine,” replied Vatsa, already back to glaring at the two in the room from behind the door. “I did him a favor.”

 

“What does he even  _ see _ in him?”

 

“No idea. He’s too serious.” Prakash shrugged lightly, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s been spending so much time training with master Mondatta, it feels like the two of them have become one and the same.”

 

A familiar laugh resonated through the hallway, and immediately all three monks froze in absolute, abject terror.

 

“And that’s a problem?”

 

Slowly, they turned around in one single, unified movement. Mondatta was behind them, smiling brightly, hands hidden beneath his sleeves and eyes sparkling with amusement.

 

“Don’t you three have matters to tend to?” he let out, tilting his head to the side.

 

With an unanimous “yes, master!”, the monks scattered, red-faced.


	6. tension breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no art again bc im on a super tight schedule in uni and i just want this out there.... u guys are spared from having 2 look at it lol

“It’s raining again.”

 

The sound of Genji’s voice shook Zenyatta out of his meditative state. The monk blinked slowly, thoughts gathering back into an orderly fashion, realizing slowly that the warrior was no longer sitting in front of him.

 

Uncrossing his legs, he tilted his head to the side, looking back. Genji was leaning against the windowsill, the panels just open enough for him to fit his shoulders through, head poking out of the room into the cool air outside. Zenyatta gave a small smile, adjusting his sitting position to face the warrior more comfortably, blue eyes running over his friend’s dark figure, cut neatly against the blanket of grey covering the outside world.

 

Genji’s hair was a ruffled mess, as always. Zenyatta could see strands of tender green hair sticking out every which way, standing out against the pale of his skin and the dark grey clouds looming overhead. The warrior was fighting the heat that reigned inside the monastery by wearing his heavy training robes untied, shoulders negligently exposed as he let the thick wool hang off his folded arms. The fabric artfully draped across his muscular frame as he leaned outside, eyes closed and his expression serene, enjoying the humid air against his overheated body.

 

Zenyatta paused an instant to admire him, tracing the curve of his spine and the scars striping his back with avid blue eyes. A shiver forced him out of his trance as the wind finally reached him. He could swear he had never seen the man cold- no matter the weather he always seemed to carry an aura of warmth around him, as if he had fire coursing through his veins.

 

He noted, somewhat bitterly, that it was much easier for him to focus on Genji than on his meditations, but chased the thought away.

 

“When did you get up?” Zenyatta asked him, tightening his robes around himself to ward off the humidity he could already feel permeating the room.

 

“Not too long ago.”

 

“Interrupting your meditation is a terrible thing for your mind, Genji,” he scolded him softly, his tone wanting itself playful.

 

“I’m sorry, sensei. I couldn’t concentrate.”

 

He hadn’t even turned to look back at him, dark eyes lost somewhere in the mountains, far away from the temple. Zenyatta’s brow furrowed.

 

He had been appointed as the young warrior’s guide throughout his training - it took an apprentice to teach an apprentice, his master had reasoned. There were moments where Zenyatta had doubted that fact, finding his own teaching abilities intensely lacking, especially with how differently him and Genji had been taught; but as time had gone on, the more he realized just how much the warrior was teaching him back, without him even realizing it. Even now, he could see so many of his own mannerisms in the other man, and vice-versa; it made him smile every time, and he had felt blessed to be allowed to walk alongside him, and blessed to have a master who had realized it before he had himself.

 

As a result of the months they had spent together, he liked to believe he could read Genji like an open book - and Genji was not the type to be so taciturn. He never had an issue with someone else he didn’t solve that same day, or a problem he didn’t go to someone more suited than him to help. And with what he had been doing for the past few days - the nervous glances, the trembling hands brushing against his, the distractions, the smiles - Zenyatta knew what was the problem. Or rather, he knew he was the problem.

 

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, before finally deciding to act - the talk he had with the other acolytes the day prior had been the final catalyst, the last confirmation he needed for him to be certain. And really, he had known from the day the Shimadas had entered the temple. He had simply chosen to let his uncertainties hold him back.

 

Today was the day he would right this.

 

“Genji.”

 

The warrior finally turned to face him. His traits seemed tired, drawn; he was still offered a smile, but it felt forced, wrong. The monk frowned again, before patting the floor in front of him.

 

“Close the window and come.”

 

Genji wrinkled his nose, but followed suit, locking the panes and stepping up to Zenyatta as instructed.

 

“I told you, I really can’t today--”

 

“Just sit. Trust me.”

 

He sighed curtly, but obeyed again, letting himself fall heavily to the floor in front of his friend, eyeing him dubitatively. He seemed clearly reluctant to the idea of meditation, and Zenyatta knew he would soon begin his usual goofball routine to try to get out of it.

 

Luckily for him self-introspection was not in the cards that day. At least, not that kind.

 

The monk held his hands out, palms up, straightening his face. He held Genji’s gaze long enough for the warrior to give up and place his own over Zenyatta’s wrists, not without an audible sigh of discontent. He rewarded him with a smile at his obedience, before clearing his throat deeply, heart beating hard against his ribs.

 

It was now or never.

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

Another sigh as he followed the instructions. Zenyatta could see his brow crinkle with discontent and had to deploy treasures of self-control to not laugh and foil his own plan.

 

“Just breathe, Genji. Breathe, and find the Iris.”

 

Genji chuckled somberly, shaking his head, and Zenyatta’s heart bounded in his chest. It felt like a wonder that the warrior could not hear it, so loud and all-encompassing it felt inside of himself.

 

“You're wasting your time, sensei,” he said with a smile, eyes still closed. “Hanzo has told me multiple times that I'm a lost cause.”

 

Zenyatta could feel the heat rising inside of him as he leaned in as slowly as he could, thoughts muddled, hands trembling. He was terrified, terrified, his thoughts a panicked flurry of everything that could go wrong, everything that this could ruin.

 

“I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet,” Genji droned on, unaware. “You've been teaching me for months now, you'd think you would have picked up on it, a smart guy like you…”

 

He could feel his heat now, warm, inviting. The scent of his skin. The beat of his pulse. He was terrified to breathe lest he be discovered, and yet he couldn't stop, he couldn't back down. Their faces were so close, his smile so inviting; how many times now had he dreamed of this, how many ways had the scenario played in his mind?

 

Now or never. Now or never. He knew how Genji felt, how this was troubling him. It was his turn.

 

He tightened his grip around Genji’s wrists, holding his breath, and closed the distance.

 

“It's impossible to shut me up when I--”

 

Zenyatta pressed his lips to Genji’s without a sound, and waited.

 

The world stopped.

 

One second. Two, three, four. Genji didn't pull back. Zenyatta wanted to scream, to run, to apologize, to kiss him harder. It felt like a lifetime condensed into those few moments, this liminal space between how they were, and how things would be. The future felt like it would never come.

 

Genji let go of his wrists. So did the monk. He felt his hands pull away, fear gripping his stomach. They came back, gentle, nervous, sliding against the sides of his neck, as if afraid they would close onto a mirage, as if a single wrong movement would break the spell and make it stop.

 

The warrior leaned into the kiss, and all was right with the world again. Just like that.

 

Zenyatta had never planned this far. His hands were trembling, bunched around the fabric of Genji’s robes, his head so suddenly empty of thoughts that it made him feel dizzy. His hesitation was all the warrior needed. The monk felt him give a tentative bite to his lip, a soft hand tilting his head aside, a warm chest press against his; he let him lead without hesitation, eyelids fluttering closed and hands clasping behind the small of Genji’s back, feeling as if a weight had been removed from his chest, like he could breathe again.

 

It was a long moment before either of them moved. Zenyatta felt as if he could have stayed there forever, had the bell outside not resonated, pulling them from their shared moment and leaving them dazed, reverent, and red-faced. He realized he had barely breathed that whole time, that his knees ached from staying so long without moving, but all he could think about was how Genji was smiling, how his hands were still pressed against his burning skin, and how he was looking at him, dark eyes shimmering like he had never seen them before.

 

Zenyatta couldn’t help it. All the accumulated nervosity washed away at once and he burst into laughter, burying his face in his hands, overcome with relief. The feeling only intensified when he heard the warrior follow suit, arms wrapping around him and pulling him close to his chest, lips pressing against the top of his head.

 

“No, no! We had this conversation,” Genji scolded him, his smile apparent in his voice. “You can’t keep hiding your smile, it’s unfair -”

 

The monk grinned, looking up and showing the warrior his flustered expression, blue eyes crinkled with joy.

 

“Better?” he beamed, amused by the look he was given in response.

 

He was answered with another kiss, rougher this time, Genji’s hands gripping at the sides of his neck and pulling him in close, sending another long shudder along his spine.

 

“So much better,” he breathed, eyes sank in his.

 

The bell rang again, filling the room with its grave tone. Zenyatta’s hands tightened around Genji’s robes instinctively, brow furrowed; neither of them wanted to be the one to pull away and end the moment, but duty called. It always did.

 

He tilted his head back towards the warrior, who understood. He sat back on his haunches, gathering his robes back around himself to look a little more presentable, before offering the monk a mischievous smile.

 

“I look forward to our next lesson, sensei.”

 

Zenyatta felt his words pierce right through his chest. Genji apparently noticed the effect he had on him as his invitation was followed by a soft chuckle; he pulled himself up and offered his arm to the monk, who took it gratefully.

 

They walked back to the temple together, trembling hand in trembling hand.


End file.
